


Co-Pilot

by Rei_Rei (anti60ne)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Movie Reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti60ne/pseuds/Rei_Rei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin lived the Backpack Theory and was proud of it, until Lu Han came along with his own theory of luggage analogies. Suho makes a (voice) cameo in the end.</p><p>Based on the movie <i>Up in the Air</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Co-Pilot

  
Kim Jongin lived by a principle called the Backpack Theory, formulated by none other than himself. It posited that a person’s purpose in life should be to empty his backpack that was packed to the brims with possessions and relationships, which only weighed him down as time progressed – the only way to a self-fulfilled life was to leave behind these deadweights.   
  
As a well-known journalist that traveled the world to cover stories in other countries, especially Europe and North America due to his proficiency in English and French, Jongin was living an affluent, luxurious life. His wallet was a hall of fame displaying  a wide array of VIP cards, with one flash of each he could cut to the front of the line anywhere, anytime, and enjoy benefits and privileges shared by only a handful in the world.  
  
Of course, there was a downside to Jongin’s status. Because of the nature of his job, he virtually took the airplane and airport as his residence, his time spent on flights and layovers between them. Light packing had become an expertise, of second nature, something on the same level as brushing his teeth or shaving. His hectic and on-the-go schedule may have another person running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but not Kim Jongin. He was professional, methodical, confident, and sociable, a person who emanated prominence and smugness everywhere he went, someone who never had trouble striking up a conversation.  
  
He was complacent with the way he lived – not just the money, status and recognition, but also the permanent no-strings-attached policy in the department of love. To him, this lifestyle wasn't sleeping around, but merely noncommittal. He took no responsibilities because he didn't have to, and he liked that. It was, in some way, floating in a helium balloon; comfortable and effortless and pretentiously safe. For Jongin, commitment was overrated and in some way, he saw it as the one luxury that he couldn't afford.   
  
Then the balloon was busted by an unexpected prick in the form of a certain Lu Han.   
  
They had met on his flight to London. He was a flight attendant that coincidentally came to his request for a refill of his cognac. It was not meant to be an encounter beyond passing glances and polite gestures, but something in the doll-faced Chinese sparked Jongin’s interest and something in the tanned businessman piqued Lu Han’s curiosity. And so it began, simply and with no afterthoughts.   
  
Lu Han was beautiful in a childish way, cute in a mature way, and carefree in a structured way. He was the opposite of Jongin but complemented him impeccably. He let Jongin pay for dinner but poured his own wine. He never walked in front of the taller man nor behind him. He laughed when Jongin teased him about his saving plans but refused to be labeled as a cheapskate. Lu Han was at ease with Jongin’s secular values and crude humor, and Jongin didn't mind Lu Han’s lame sex jokes and frivolous stereotypes. Neither of them took life too seriously because they both believed it was too short to carry any gravity.   
  
The afterthoughts came to Jongin as he subconsciously tried to book all of his international flights with the same airline – Lu Han’s company – and move around them according to Lu Han’s work schedule. But Jongin wasn't hit by the possibility of their “fling” evolving into something else, something  _more_ , until they sat at the deceptively classy bar at JFK.   


 

  
  
“I believe in the Baggage Theory,” declared Lu Han as he took a sip of his gin and tonic.  
  
“What the hell is the Baggage Theory.” Jongin’s words struck as a statement instead of questioning, thick with impending mockery.  
  
“Well, it’s kind of like your Backpack Theory except not really. Backpacks are also a form of baggage, right? I think it’s something you can’t get rid of in terms of capability and also necessity. It’s like a carry-on, you may wish you could just have it checked out along with your luggage, but it contains all your essentials like toothbrush, moisturizer, business materials that you need to look over, iPad, et cetera. You need it. Everyone has baggage, and while the size varies from person to person, it’s still baggage nonetheless. When you look past the exteriors of a person and see the baggage they’re carrying, you won’t think that your own is so bad.”  
  
He was quiet, sinking into Lu Han’s words like quicksand. He had nothing to refute, nothing to scorn. But he was stubborn, still.   
  
“I can still choose to carry a backpack that is empty,” he said finally. These words technically adhered to his theory, but they clanged against his ears like dissonance. Lu Han didn’t say anything in return. He simply looked down and watched the liquid as he swirled his glass.  
  
Staring at the glimmers reflected off of his tulip glass, he suddenly felt dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.   


 

  
  
As Jongin looked himself in the dresser mirror, washed up and shaven, it struck him that he was looking at someone that was both familiar and unfamiliar, akin to an identical twin. He studied the reflection that showed Lu Han sleeping soundly, wrapped by sheets that were no longer warm with his body heat. He felt pulled into a void, no longer falling but stuck, unsure how to move forward or step back. His heart was telling him one thing and his mind another. He wrestled, fought and argued with himself to no avail.   
  
It was the last day they spent together before Lu Han was to begin a new rotation that would restrict him to mainly domestic flights and only a handful of internationals per year. In a few hours would be their one last flight together to Los Angeles, where Lu Han claimed home and Jongin simply “owned a form of real estate”. After that, they probably wouldn’t see each other for another few months, maybe even up to a year.  
  
One year. Four seasons. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes.   
  
Jongin tried to imagine himself going through one day without hearing Lu Han’s voice, one week without sending him a text message or email, one month without seeing his face, even via FaceTime. 

He absentmindedly padded into the bathroom, hands grabbing his travel-sized toiletries and dropping them into a customized bag on their own accord.  
  
He thought this morning should be the perfect moment to end it, except it felt nothing like an end. Instead, it felt like an end _of_ him if he let Lu Han go just like that, as if he was drowning in an ocean of preconceptions and he was at the brink of letting go in fears of change.  
  
 _“Good morning, it is 7:25AM here in Denver, Colorado and the temperature is a pleasant 68 degrees...”_  
  
The news anchor's voice filled the room as Lu Han turned it on, picking up his clothes that were scattered near the bed. Jongin checked his hair impulsively again before heading out of the bathroom.   
  
“Good morning,” said Jongin as he smiled and left a peck on Lu Han’s lips.   
  
“Morning,” Lu Han replied, voice still thick with sleep. His hair was unkempt and he had hastily thrown on a dress shirt – coincidentally Jongin’s – but there were already gleams in his eyes that welcomed the morning.  
  
 _“... Boeing 764 departing from Honolulu with destination in Houston barely avoided a fatal crash...”_  
  
“Oh my god, listen to this.” Lu Han exclaimed as he snatched up the remote control and turned up the volume. The TV screen showed a virtual map of the route and a miniature animated plane, simulating the incident.   
  
 _“... the 64-year-old pilot Arthur Rosenberg had a sudden stroke in midair as they were roughly 8000 feet above Boulder City, Nevada. The plane took a sharp turn and began falling at a speed of 650 miles per hour for approximately 13 minutes before Brian Buck, the co-pilot, took over the controller and swiftly brought the plane back up. Our current report shows that all passengers and crew members are safe. Black box recording will be available shortly...”_  
  
“Isn't this crazy?” Lu Han’s eyes trained on the screen as he slowly shook his head, an incredulous expression marring his face. “My god, imagine the co-pilot wasn't there or if he freaked out and wasn't able to rise to the occasion—“  
  
“Then it would've crashed.” Jongin said with a strange conclusiveness that drew a look from Lu Han. Jongin’s gaze was still fixed on the TV, though the news anchor had already begun reporting on the next segment.  
  
The pilot controlled the plane, but not with his own power. If there was no co-pilot, he wouldn't be able to save the plane. One man's strength would always be less than two men's. It suddenly dawned on Jongin that running a plane was not unlike living a life. Self-reliance was not only isolative, but also taxing and potentially cataclysmic. He could choose for his life to remain as a one-man cockpit, or he could let someone in so that he wouldn’t have to watch his plane go down helplessly.   
  
Jongin abruptly turned on his heels and walked up to Lu Han, cupping his face that had always fit so perfectly in his hands.  
  
“Will you be my co-pilot?”  
  
Lu Han studied his face in silence. He saw glimpses of dependence in the crinkles of his nose, hints of yearning in the arches of his brows, and brilliant shades of sincerity in his eyes.   
  
“Only if you let me into your backpack,” Lu Han said, wide eyes glistening with small hopes.  
  
Jongin’s lips slowly drew into a lovely curve.  
  
“No.” Lu Han’s face fell, but Jongin continued just as his mouth was pouting downward. “You’re already in it.”  
  
Lu Han laughed, the sound ringing through Jongin’s ears like the best news he had ever heard. He threw his arms around Jongin’s neck, snuggling close until wafts of Hugo Boss poured into his noise.  
  
“You’re so cheesy.”  
  
“And you’re the only thing in my backpack,” Jongin added, mumbling into Lu Han’s hair while suppressing a laugh. Lu Han laughed, louder and freer this time, and Jongin’s arms wrapped him in tighter as a stupid grin stretched across his face.  
  
“Stop it!”  
  
Before he could change his mind, Jongin made a call to Suho, his boss, and pitched a firm request to transfer to a post that required 25% or less traveling and restricted to domestic. It was readily granted, considering Jongin was a key asset to the network, and they could always have another journalist cover international stories.  However, Suho considered the request highly unusual as he thought Jongin had _liked_ traveling.

“I’m not upset or anything, Jongin, but this is really unexpected,” Suho wondered out loud. “What happened to your Backpack Theory?”  
  
“I retired it. I’m living the Baggage Theory now.”  
  
“What the hell is the Baggage Theory?”  
  
Jongin could hear the skepticism in Suho’s voice. He laughed.  
  
“I’ll explain another time.” He paused. “Better yet, I’ll have the person who came up with it explain to you.”  
  
Jongin hung up the phone before Suho could badger him further. He checked his watch. His flight back to Los Angeles was in an hour. Lu Han had already boarded with his crew for in-flight preparations. Jongin smiled as he strolled toward the designated terminal.  
  
 _Next and Final Destination: Home_.  
  
  
  


 


End file.
